


Kingpin Rancor

by corellianred



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4584063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corellianred/pseuds/corellianred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trin wins a Kingpin Rancor. Turns out it's not just some speeder brand she hadn't heard of. What are you supposed to do with a rancor anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kingpin Rancor

**Author's Note:**

> So I won one of the Kingpin Rancor jackpots and couldn't stop wondering what the actual hell you might do, in-universe, with a rancor.

The slot machine’s jackpot siren is so loud that it’s _got_ to be violating some sort of excess noise ordinance, if they even have those on Nar Shaddaa. Trin whoops with delight and spins around to look for Risha, who’s sauntering back from the bar with a pair of black ales.

“Did you _see_ that?”

“See it? I think the whole casino knows about it.”

She’s right — people are craning their necks to see who’s in front of the winning machine. Some of them must’ve been here for hours at a stretch. They’ve just been throwing in a few credits for something to do while Bowdaar finishes up a deal in one of the private rooms.

“What did you win?”

“Oh. Uh…” Trin looks up at the scrolling holodisplay, showing a note about the jackpot in dozens of different languages — it’s moved way past Basic and Huttese and is deep into the more obscure written scripts found around the galaxy. “Let’s see…”

“I know that one! Kind of,” Risha says. “Something about being the envy of someone or other when they see you ride past…?”

“Oh. A speeder? I guess I’d have preferred credits, but oh well…”

The machine spits out a token and emits some instructions in grating synthetic Basic and Huttese to visit the special prizes desk. It’s thick and heavy, not like the regular game tokens, and feels the way a stroke of good luck ought to feel. On one side is an impression of the casino’s impressive apartment tower. And on the other… is that a claw?

“I think that’s your cue to quit while you’re ahead. And besides, people are staring,” Risha tells her, passing her one of the ales. “C’mon. There’s a very, um, intriguing dancer down in the lounge area.”

 

#

 

They wait for Bowdaar to come back — his deal went well, he says — and the three of them gather round the counter, all excited to see what’ll come out of this. The vendor is an older Twi’lek woman, _very_ glamorous, who greets them with a practiced hospitality smile. She takes Trin’s token and examines it carefully with a hand-scanner. “A Kingpin rancor,” she says eventually. “How lucky! Congratulations.”

“Yeah, thanks! A speeder, right?”

“Ah, no,” the vendor says. “The prize is a live rancor.”

“A _what?_ ” they chorus.

“A rancor, miss.” Then she brings up a holodisplay with some footage of a genuine, actual, living and breathing rancor. It’s curled up on the ground, probably dozing, inside a forcefield cage filled with vegetation, a few stones, and a number of unidentifiable bones. “This is a live feed. He really is a wonderful specimen. Just six months old.”

Trin blinks. “What am I supposed to do with a rancor?”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to be overly prescriptive about how our valued guests choose to use their winnings.”

“I don’t _need_ a rancor. I have no idea what to do with a rancor! Can’t I exchange it for something else?”

“I’m afraid you waived that right when you entered the venue. All payouts are final, no negotiation shall be entered into.”

Risha gives the woman her best queen-of-the-underworld look, right down her nose. “We can’t take a rancor.”

“Of course not, miss. It would be most unlikely that you’d have come equipped to carry such an unusual prize. We can arrange free delivery anywhere within the Mid Rim, or the core for a small fee.”

Trin looks back at the rancor on the holo. It paws at the ground in its sleep. “What if we don’t want to take the rancor at all?”

“Ah. If the rancor hadn’t been won, we would have donated it to Ribba the Hutt’s fighting pits. So we could donate the beast under your name, if you wish—”

Bowdaar shifts uncomfortably beside her. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

“Nope. No fighting pits.”

“Well. Those are your options,” the vendor says, her chirpy demeanour beginning to slip a little.

Trin sighs. “Fine, okay. Do you deliver to Tatooine?”

 

#

 

Back on the ship, Trin is still pulling off her boots when Corso comes into their quarters at a full run. “Um. Rish just told me to ask you what you won at the casino.”

“I won a baby rancor,” she says.

His face goes from excited-little-boy to confused. “A baby rancor?”

“You heard right.”

Risha is laughing now, somewhere down the hallway. “Told you it was good,” she calls out.

“What are we going to do with a rancor?”

She throws her hands up in a beats-me gesture. “I guess sell it, or… I don’t know, trade it or give it to one of Rogun’s cronies, maybe…”

“You couldn’t take some other prize?”

“No, because something-something-blah-blah all payouts are final, or they were gonna send it to some Hutt’s fighting pits, and I couldn’t do that. So. Rancor.” She kicks the boots off into the corner of the cabin and flops back onto the bed. “They’re delivering it to the homestead next Fourthday, first thing in the morning.”

He sits down beside her and strokes her forearm. “You’ve got a real habit of letting strays follow you home, huh.”

“Well, obviously; I married _you_.”

 

#

 

The shuttle touches down right on time, parking neatly on the flat space just at the edge of the property, and the crew waste no time in unloading their delivery. The casino’s paid for the transport, just like they said, but she makes sure to tip the crew and gives them the run of the homestead’s kitchen nonetheless.

The rancor’s quiet and watchful, kept inside a forcefield carrier. It’s smaller than either of them were expecting — barely taller than a doorway. Corso can’t help his curiosity and starts checking out the animal before they’re even done moving it. Along with the cage there’s a crate of supplies and a squat, four-legged droid. It unfolds itself, looks around, spots Trin, and bustles over to introduce itself.

“Good morning, miss,” it says. “Can you please direct me to Captain Trin ai Kari?”

“That’d be me,” she replies, not really giving the droid her full attention. A rancor! A real live one, right there on her loading deck.

“Well, then, let me offer you my sincere congratulations! You are the new owner of a juvenile pygmy rancor, purpose-bred by Kingpin Corporation for Club Vertica. I am KN-G7, a personal veterinary support droid. I, naturally, come complimentary along with the rest of the supplies — that is, if you do not already have a qualified rancor specialist on your staff.”

“If I don’t already have a _qualified_ — kriffing hell, of course I don’t. You’re hired. Go on.”

“Excellent choice. I am trained in every aspect of rancor upkeep and care. You can rest assured that your new friend will stay in the very best health. Shall I start with a description of his pedigree?”

“There are pedigrees?”

“Of course,” the droid says, tilting its head. “Kingpin Corporation has been supplying rancors to discerning customers for generations. We keep impeccable records.”

“Trin, look!” Corso calls over his shoulder. He’s almost nose-to-nose with the animal, separated by just a few inches and the thin gold forcefield. He bounces up and down a couple of times and the rancor mimics him, waving his big forearms.

“Is he safe?”

“Yes. He is fully domesticated and very tame. Playful, as you can see. Is that man your animal trainer?”

Trin snorts. “No, that’s my husband. Look, KN, I don’t know what you were expecting, but there’s no staff. No animal trainers or anything like that. Just us, a few friends who come and stay sometimes, a few droids. It’s pretty much up to you, buddy.”

“Me, in charge? How irregular.” The droid tilts its head like it’s thinking. “I am sure my programming can adapt to more… limited conditions. Of course, it will be my pleasure to serve. As for your rancor, you’ll find he’s quite adaptable. We can let him out whenever you’re ready.”

“He won’t run away?”

“He is well trained, I assure you,” KN sniffs, and then emits a small tone. The rancor immediately stops and sits back on its haunches. “See?”

“Wow.” Trained and well-behaved aren’t even in the top ten things you’d think about when you imagine a rancor. Guess you’re always learning something new, though, right?

“Corso,” she calls, “you ready? We’re going to let him out.”

“Alright.” He hits the control and comes back to stand alongside her.

The shields come down and the rancor looks around, snuffling the air. Then it swings its head back towards them, and Trin’s hand creeps round to the blaster at the back of her pants.

But the rancor just makes a little _rerr_ sound and bounces up and down again.

“Look, he wants to play!” Corso says, delight all over his face.

Trin gives him a sidelong look.

“Why do I get the feeling this rancor might be sticking around?”


End file.
